Hi friend,
The body has been on my mind more than ever recently, and not for the usual New Year’s diet-and-exercise reasons. Now that I’m back in treatment, I’m constantly being asked how I am, being poked and prodded and examined, even self-examined. I check in with what I’m feeling and where I’m feeling it. I wake up in the middle of the night with a little catch in my chest—an irregular heartbeat—and scan my body to ensure there’s nothing else.
Prior to my leukemia recurrence, I had a conflicted relationship with my body. I’ve demanded more from it than it could give and expected it to conform to impossible standards, only to be frustrated when it broke down or fell short. Often I viewed it as a burden—weighing me down and holding me back.
All that has changed. I started another round of chemo just before New Year’s, in preparation for my bone marrow transplant sometime in February, and it’s been a hard go—I’ve spent the last eight days in bed. Today was the first day I woke up without pain. As I descended the stairs, I didn’t have to lean on the banister; I could walk almost normally. I found myself saying, “Thank you, legs. Thank you, feet.” What I felt for them bordered on reverence.
I’ve been humbled into a real respect and a newfound appreciation for all we ask of the body, all it helps us endure. Right now, because I am so vulnerable, I can’t afford to beat it down. I need to believe that it will ward off the infections that inevitably will arrive, that it will tolerate the chemo, that it’s going to be hospitable to my brother's bone marrow. It’s now that my body is at its most vulnerable, I am seeing its strength.
Today we have a prompt on the body—on how we fight with it and how we might make peace with it—from my sweet friend, the writer and editor Natasha Yglesias. In this season rife with toxic messaging around body image, I hope it offers a reprieve.
Sending love,
Suleika
P.S. We’ve just scheduled our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual writing hour. It’ll be next Sunday, January 16 at 1pm ET, with Carmen as host. You can learn more and find info on how to join here!
P.P.S. Later this week, I’ll be sending out the next installment of Dear Susu, my advice column where you can ask me anything. It’s a paid subscriber benefit—join us!
The Isolation Journals is my newsletter for people seeking to transform life's interruptions into creative grist. Both free and paid subscriptions are available. The best way to support my work is with a paid subscription.
177. Body Love/Body Hate by Natasha Yglesias
I don’t know a single person who doesn’t have a complicated relationship with their body, or who hasn’t been taught to dislike certain parts of it. In this way, dissatisfaction with our image and self-criticism are some of our most unifying commonalities. My own complicated self-image is so often my focus that many of my short stories were actually born from moments of frustration, sadness, or longing about my body. It was only once I began facing what made me insecure that I was able to learn more about these insecurities, and unearth their roots.
Now when I create characters, I often find myself starting with the body, and I often pull from my own bodily insecurities as inspiration. Does the character have flat feet or a downturned mouth? What are their hands always reaching for? How does gravity affect them? Have traces from their environment made themselves known on their skin or under their nails? Do they constantly pull at their clothes? What is their posture like?
While these moments of bodily consideration haven’t exorcised the pain and toxicity from my self-view, they’ve given me the power to name and explore my discomfort more fully. They’ve illuminated how my relationship to my body affects the way I move and exist in the world, the way I connect with others, and my expectations for intimacy and acceptance. This learning and unlearning about my body has helped me understand myself and others better, which only enhances my writing and strengthens my character creation.
Your prompt for the week:
Write about discomfort or bitterness you’ve felt about your body. Don’t be afraid to name it, to acknowledge its presence, and to try to discover its roots. Explore how your relationship to your body affects the way you move through the world and how it informs your relationship with others.
Bonus prompt:
Take what you’ve learned and build a fictional character inspired by these findings. Try to view them as removed from you as possible. How do they exist in their world? How do they relate to others?
Today’s Contributor
Natasha Yglesias is a writer and editor based in Northern California. A graduate of the Bennington Writing Seminars, her fiction has appeared in Third Point Press, Waypoints Magazine, Lockjaw Magazine, and elsewhere. She’s currently a fiction submissions reader for Post Road Magazine and The Line Literary Review. She’s on Twitter as @TashaYglesias.
Given that I’m back in treatment for leukemia, December’s Studio Visit with Lena Dunham was my last for the foreseeable future, but paid subscribers can still access the full archive. In its stead, I’m sending out my Dear Susu column, where I answer questions about writing and life and anything in between. In the first installment, I answered a question from Jeanne, who feels the urge to write but isn’t sure how to share her words with the world. Read the column and find instructions on how to send in your questions by clicking here!
I just want to thank you for helping me to reframe the way I see and relate to my body. I am currently struggling with end stage anorexia nervosa and palliating at home. I spent years starving myself as a means of coping with trauma and other mental health issues and now my body has told me “enough!” Ironically, it is happening at a time when my will to live is so strong so I am praying for a miracle and reading your memoir and these newsletters is one of my main motivating tools for keeping my head focusing on a hopeful, healthy future for myself.
I feel so blessed to have found you and I really hope that you heal up soon and don’t have to suffer too much longer. You bring so much hope and joy and inspiration to me Suleika and one of my future dreams is to come meet you in person at a book signing because of how much your words and story have changed my whole outlook on life and my relationship to my body.
Thank you thank you a million times thank you 🙏
Making Baskets With Nipples
———-
I was always a boobs girl.
For mine.
As soon as they started growing, I grew fond of them. Not too big, not too tiny. Always a consistent reminder when the air was cold. Always a willing participant as I got older and decided to flash someone like a good guy friend in college drunk across the bar... or my husband years later on an important business call. My boobs enjoyed surprising a few people and making them laugh.
And they had a maternal instinct too. They were very willing to nurture and breast feed two babies, one of whom would bite the fuck out of em. The other of whom would latch on
like he’d never get another meal... all while turning his head away from my body taking that nipple with him. I didn’t know a human nipple could elongate like that! So yeah, they even liked surprising me.
My boobs and I had a very nice, very long relationship. They were my best body part. Until they weren’t.
It was a difficult night when I had to tell them that they were getting cut off. My breast cancer diagnosis was a month earlier and the double mastectomy was the next morning. I spent a good amount of time that evening looking at them and thanking them for their service and friendship. And for helping my babies grow. I took pictures of them and told them I would never forget them. I knew life wouldn’t be the same, but life was what I needed... so they needed to go.
The surgery was 6 plus hours. I woke up with my sister’s face inches from my eyes telling me I was ok. My husband was telling me the news that my nodes were clear. I was so incredibly groggy but oh so relieved. I then told them what happened at the end of surgery. I said that after they amputated my boobs,the doctors were trying to make baskets with my nipples. I told my sister and husband that both docs had a nipple and took turns aiming toward the surgery trash can and doing their best to score. I think they both made their shots. I was cheering them on of course.
My husband hugged me and told me to go back to sleep.
I woke up hours later in a hospital room.
I had drains where my boobs once were.
I was flat like a fifth grade boy... but I was alive.
Chemo would start in a month along with breast reconstruction. I made it through both.
I’m six years out. I do miss those boobs. They were good to me. They were helpful. At times they had a good sense of humor.
But here I am.